A well meant traveler: February 2013

Men will look at me. They stare and I know precisely what they are thinking. Who is this solemn girl, this quiet one with the sad eyes and slow gate? How does she pierce through my heart and command me to long for her? They think these things, but they dare not say a word, these cowardly men. They extract their gaze and continue to suspend in a life of banal routines and lowly desires. They daydream of a grandeur life with their love, one that starts with brutal passion and ends in angry tears. They could grab me and profess their love for me, kiss me, for how do they know I would not love them back? But no, silence overtakes them and forever carries their fickle minds to the land of normalcy and faintheartedness, over and over until there is no juncture for escape.